Every Picture Tells a Story
by dibdab4
Summary: Some speculation and wishful thinking based on photos recently released in relation to the beginning of Season. We are exactly one week away from the first episode as I post this! YAYYYYYYY!


This is merely speculation and conjecture inspired by recent photos released as we (anxiously and with baited breath) await the start of S6. Just musings on my part. No spoiling intended (but if you have managed to live in a sack and have avoided photos, interviews, articles, etc., you might want to skip this for now :)

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The family, on the whole, had been knocked for sixes upon learning the news, their responses proving to be both expected and unexpected. Lord Grantham was visibly shaken, although he quickly covered with a polite smile, offering his hand to both butler and housekeeper before his embarrassed wife made up with effusive congratulations to cover for her husband's odd reaction. Tom Branson's enthusiasm was only slightly more muted than his mother-in-law's, while Lady Edith was more reserved, but she perfunctorily greeted each of them with a kind smile as she grasped Mrs. Hughes' hand and offered her warmest wishes.

Lady Mary, as Mrs. Hughes had expected, was proving to be the true wild card in terms of reaction. It was anyone's guess whether she would support her stalwart and champion in his bid for happiness or respond bitterly at what she might perceive as abandonment by the one man who had continually supported her throughout the years.

The congratulations dwindling, attention slowly turned toward the young woman who stood frozen at the library mantle, her porcelain doll-like countenance giving no indication of her feelings.

"Milady?" It was Mr. Carson himself who finally broke the silence as he took a step towards her. "I know this is quite unexpected, but I do hope you will find it in your heart to wish us happiness."

Behind the façade, Lady Mary struggled with how to respond. The immature, childlike nature of her personality wanted to lash out at the couple for her immediate presumption of upheaval and inconvenience she assumed the union would produce, but as she regarded the warm, pleading eyes of the man in front of her, the rarely seen and kinder nature that had been brought to fruition as her own child had entered the world, it growing and blooming as he did each day, took over and she inhaled deeply, allowing the concept of the butler's entitlement to happiness drown out the worry and selfishness she had initially felt.

Offering her hand to Mr. Carson, she granted the couple a bright smile as she promised, "Happiness is all I ever wish for you, Carson, and you, Mrs. Hughes." She turned to her father with a look of expectancy, "I know we all feel this way, isn't that right, Papa?"

"Of course. Every happiness, Mrs. Hughes. Carson." It was obvious to everyone in the room that Robert Crawley's words were not heartfelt, but they were enough to at least slightly ease the tension in the room. Barrow having been summoned to wait for the arrival of the Dowager Countess and Mrs. Crawley, the two servants were dismissed and began to make their way downstairs before the dinner service commenced.

The green baize door shut behind them as Mrs. Hughes turned to Mr. Carson, "Are you alright?"

Opening his mouth to speak, the butler paused to take in the concerned, but lovely face of the woman in front of him. He was suddenly quite sure that no matter how Robert Crawley ultimately responded to the news, the choice to marry Elsie Hughes was the best he had ever made.

"I am very much alright, Mrs. Hughes. Are you?"

The lift of the butler's chin exhibiting his certainty brought a lump to her throat and the relief she now felt forced her to fight the urge to throw her arms around him. "Oh, yes, Mr. Carson."

Allowing himself a small liberty, the butler let his fingers brush down the inside of his intended's arm before resting lightly at her elbow. "Now…the staff."

Mrs. Hughes swallowed hard, her pulse humming in her ears as her cheeks warmed at the sensation of his touch, barely managing to hold herself together as she nodded before leading their way down the stairs.

Various degrees of congratulations ushered forth from the staff. Anna and Mrs. Patmore were both wet of eye as they took turns hugging Mrs. Hughes. Mr. Bates had stepped forward and shaken Mr. Carson's hand as Daisy and Andy exchanged looks as they wordlessly communicated their amused bewilderment at the idea of the two elders partaking in the activities their youthful minds instantly associated with marriage. Mr. Molesley had warmly congratulated both butler and housekeeper, but soon found his focus was squarely on Miss Baxter who returned his look with a gentle smile that offered nourishment to the seed of hope that had been planted within him upon her arrival.

Determined that the announcement would have no effect on the performance of the staff for the rest of the evening, Mr. Carson offered a polite thank you for the good wishes, but reminded them of their duties before dismissing them to continue preparations for the dinner service.

He was almost to the doorway when he turned around to find Mrs. Hughes smiling in his direction. "Sherry?" he mouthed silently, to which she replied with a series of vigorous nods. The smile that accompanied him up to the library to announce dinner was quickly erased as he met the solemn face of Robert Crawley who was standing next to an unreadable Dowager Countess.

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"How did it go?"

Standing at the sideboard near the door of the pantry, she poured the sherry as he sunk down into his armchair, his relief that the day was over quite evident in his sigh although his expression was tinged with worry.

"Barrow practically danced a jig when he heard. I am sure his response was more about the possibility of promotion than our happiness, but he did shake my hand." Mrs. Hughes chose not to respond at the slight discomfort in the butler's voice, remaining silent as he continued his report on the dinner. "Mrs. Crawley offers her warmest congratulations, but the Dowager was unusually quiet and I caught her staring at me several times throughout dinner." He paused before delivering the worst news of the evening, "I was dismissed from the dining room after the others had left so that she and his Lordship remained in the dining room to speak in private. I have never been dismissed, Mrs. Hughes."

"Oh, Mr. Carson." Mrs. Hughes turned around with their sherry glasses to find Mr. Carson's face filled with tension, his left eyebrow raised and his mouth drawn into a straight line as she handed him a sherry. She felt compelled to comfort him in some way, but feared how he would react if she tried to take his hand or stroke his brow, so she tried to lead the conversation in a more hopeful way. "Lady Mary didn't join them?"

"No. She retired after dinner with a headache."

"Oh. I had hoped she might have fought our corner." She settled into her chair and took a sip of sherry before continuing, "I know you must be pleased she is happy for you."

Mr. Carson nodded, a small smile settling on his face as he corrected, "Happy for _us."_

Mrs. Hughes' heart skipped a beat at his words. "Thank you for that."

They both knew there was so much more to say, decisions to make and worries to sooth, but the shared, yet unspoken realization of how very trying the day had been led to their sherries being finished in silence, content to simply exchange smiles across the dimly lit room. Mrs. Hughes was the first to rise from her chair, signaling for him to forgo his impeccable manners for once and stay seated as she prepared to leave the room; a signal he not surprisingly failed to heed.

"I am sorry, but I don't know that I can hold my eyes open much longer."

"Of course, Mrs. Hughes."

Their news being out in the open, it crossed her mind to ask if he might begin using her Christian name, at least when they were alone, but apprehension and exhaustion got the better of her intention and upon reaching the door, she turned back, letting her hand rest for a moment on his arm before wishing him a gentle good night and slipping from the room before he had time to respond.

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While quite spent from the trying day, Mrs. Hughes had tremendous trouble falling asleep and the majority of her night was spent tossing and turning as she worried about the conversation that had taken place between his Lordship and the Dowager, the threads of the thought weaving a maddening web of related troubles:

If their marriage was deemed unacceptable in terms of their retaining employment, would they be able to afford both Becky's care and the various repairs and cosmetic jobs their property needed before they were able to proceed with opening for business? Would Mr. Carson even want to go through with the wedding if it meant leaving his position? There were so many "if's" and "will he's" swimming through her mind, she had barely fallen asleep when the kitchen maid's knock landed on her door.

Sending word with Miss Baxter that she was fighting one of her headaches and therefore skipping breakfast, she climbed back into bed, but soon gave up any hope of falling back to sleep, rising at seven to be up and around in time to make her rounds.

The couple didn't see one another until almost lunch time, their paths finally crossing in one of the guest corridors as she carried a stack of pillows and sheets that her rota deemed beyond continued use.

"Ah, good morning, Mrs. Hughes. How is your head?"

"Still a bit achy." It wasn't a fib. A headache did plague her, but was diminishing as her recently downed Beecham's powder slowly came into effect.

"I'm sorry. I don't know about you, but I barely slept a wink last night."

She smiled empathetically, noticing the bags under his eyes that supported his claim. "Yes, it was a long night with little rest, that is for certain. Speaking of, has anyone said anything?"

Knowing she was referring to his Lordship he shook his head in the negative. "He hasn't said a word to me all day. He is touring the tenant farms with Lady Mary and Mr. Branson this afternoon." He sighed deeply, "I am sure we will come up at some point in their conversation."

"I suppose we should simply hope for the best."

"Quite right, Mrs. Hughes."

He had begun to step away when a sudden impulse overtook her. "Now that everyone knows of our engagement, do you think you might call me by my Christian name?"

A look akin to horror suddenly crossed his face, "Not at work! Certainly not! That would be highly improper! Highly improper! Whatever could you be thinking, Mrs. Hughes!?"

She thought there was more than a chance he might show resistance to the idea, but his reaction had been so strong she felt as though she had been slapped. It wasn't even what he said, but how he had said it; the look on his face. She managed a whispered, "Of course," before turning away, fighting to control the speed of her walk, her inclination to run away from him quite strong.

He took a few steps in her direction, but stopped, not trusting himself to be able to find the right words. He hadn't meant for his reaction to be so harsh. The stress of the previous day and his exhaustion were coloring his temperament and he had instantly regretted the words as they left his mouth; it was obvious his reaction had deeply hurt her. Deciding his best course of action at the moment would be rest, he turned in the direction of the nearest stairwell, his gate lumbering with the weight of regret as he sought the refuge of his pantry.

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Doubts and worries multiplied with each step she took down the corridor. She had been under the impression that they had both been extremely happy since the engagement, but she was now questioning her own judgement. Had she imagined the relaxed demeanor he had affected in the private moments they had shared since Christmas Eve? Had she misunderstood his intentions? Was this marriage to simply be one of companionship between two friends; a union consisting of shared meals and chores, but separate beds and no affection? Did he feel no attraction to her? Would her desire for him be unrequited once they were married? Mrs. Hughes felt sick as she retreated into one of the empty guest rooms, her fatigue and anguish mounting so that she had to seek refuge in a chair near the door.

Quite certain she would remain relatively undisturbed in this far corner of the house, she allowed herself the release of weeping. Unsure whether only a few minutes or almost an hour had passed, she was rising from her seat, her tears finally ceasing, when she suddenly heard the door creak. Not emotionally prepared to face Mr. Carson, she was relieved when Mrs. Patmore suddenly appeared.

"I've been looking all over for…what's wrong?"

The housekeeper quickly turned her tearstained face away from the little cook. "Oh, I don't want to bother you."

"You could never be a bother, Mrs. Hughes." Mrs. Patmore held out her hand, "Come along. Let's go to your room. You never know who is lurking in these corridors."

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"And you don't think his Lordship approves?" Mrs. Patmore sat on the edge of the green velvet chair, Mrs. Hughes across from her on the seat in front of her vanity.

"He was very quiet when we told the family and then Mr. Carson said he and the Dowager spoke privately after dinner last night. I don't know…"

"But Lady Mary is on your side? You said she was pleasant when you told the family?"

"She came around, yes, but ultimately his Lordship says whether we can stay or go, although I don't know if…" Mrs. Hughes stop speaking as her tears threatened to recommence.

"What, hen? What don't you know?"

Mrs. Hughes looked down at her folded hands, willing the words to usher from her constricted throat, "I don't know if Mr. Carson really wants me. He won't even call me by my Christian name."

The whispered words made the little cook's heart hurt. "What? Of course he wants you. He asked you, didn't he? He wouldn't have asked you to marry him if he didn't want you."

"To cook and clean and help him with a business, certainly, but I don't know if he wants to…" she couldn't form the words, her embarrassment and anguish extinguishing any control she had over emotions.

"Wants to what?"

Mrs. Hughes shut her eyes tight as she turned her head to indicate the bed next to them.

"Ohhh…"

Mrs. Patmore sat quietly as Mrs. Hughes wept. After the announcement the evening before, the cook had taken several young staff members to task for speculations gaging from whether the butler and housekeeper were marrying to legitimize a long-term affair to the marriage being, as Mrs. Hughes feared, a simple union of convenience in preparation for their old age. Having been a spectator to the slow burning relationship for its entirety, Mrs. Patmore had no doubt that the two loved one another very much and had assumed that their marriage would be one filled with continued respect and kindness, as well as shared passion and affection.

"I don't mean to be indelicate, Mrs. Hughes, but I know of no other way to ask this. Do _you_ want _him_?"

Mrs. Hughes looked up at her with tremendous sincerity, "Yes. Yes, I do. Of course."

Offering her friend a handkerchief, the small woman smiled warmly, "We have an apple tart for the servants' pudding every twenty-eight days. Have you ever noticed that? Every twenty-eight days since just after you came to Downton, as a matter of fact."

Mrs. Hughes sniffed as she stared back at the cook. "No, I hadn't noticed, Mrs. Patmore. I assume it is because you have extra pastry from the steak and kidney pie you always make the same day we have the apple tart."

"We have steak and kidney pie _and_ apple tart every twenty-eight days because…" Mrs. Patmore knew her explanation had the potential to embarrass the housekeeper, but she was determined to prove a point. "…every woman who has ever worked or lived in this house has eventually ended up on the same cycle, Mrs. Hughes. My mother told me it has to do with the moon, but whatever the reason, believe me, it is the truth and that twenty-eighth day happens to be the general time that our bodies signaled a readiness to…a readiness to create a baby."

Mrs. Hughes stared at Mrs. Patmore with a mix of curiosity and bewilderment. "I have no idea where you are going with this, Mrs. Patmore…"

"For years and years I have made Mr. Carson's favorite meal and pudding on that day as a means of easing his frustration from being surrounded by so many fertile women- especially one who I could tell particularly tormented him."

"What?"

"I don't wish to embarrass you, Mrs. Hughes, but I know how a bull looks when he has settled on the cow he wishes to mount and I have seen that look directed at you- and only you- by Mr. Carson more times than I can count. I have no doubt in my mind that taking you to bed is high on his list of priorities once that ring is on your finger."

Mrs. Hughes bit her bottom lip in an effort to halt the smile that threatened to cross her face, but her look of delight was quickly tampered by a resurgence of doubt.

"I am no longer young, Mrs. Patmore. If what you say is true, that was a young, viable woman he wanted, not this old, tired body."

"Elsie Hughes, I would give my entire life's savings to have your face and figure. You are a lovely, beautiful woman who gets looks from gentlemen- and some that aren't gentlemen, wherever you go. That old goat will be lucky to have you, and I have no doubt he is well aware of that fact. Now no more of this weepiness, miss!" Mrs. Patmore reached over and patted a now smiling Mrs. Hughes' knee. "Splash some water on your face and come downstairs with me. I have to teach you to make steak and kidney pie and a proper apple tart for your bull!"

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The cook looked on as the servants ate that evening's dinner, her attention primarily focused on the butler and housekeeper who hadn't exchanged a single word the entire evening, but were involved in an elaborate game of stealing glances at one another without ever making eye contact.

Shaking her head, Mrs. Patmore knew what she had to do.

Certain the couple would not be partaking in their usual sherry after dinner, Mrs. Patmore pulled Mrs. Hughes aside. "Why don't you meet me in the kitchen around eleven-fifteen? We can practice making pastry and have a glass of wine."

Grateful to have a distraction during the time she would most likely _not_ be spending in the company of Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes quickly agreed.

Catching Mr. Carson on a brief trip downstairs for a new bottle of Lady Grantham's favorite port, Mrs. Patmore asked the butler if he would mind having a word with her in his pantry a little after eleven to discuss some questions she had involving her property. Grateful to have a distraction from the time he would most likely _not_ be spending in the company of Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Carson quickly agreed.

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"I hope you don't mind me waiting here." Mrs. Patmore looked up from her position on the edge of the sage green chair as Mr. Carson stepped into his pantry.

"Of course not, Mrs. Patmore. Now…" Mr. Carson sat near her on the chair in front of the fireplace. "…you wished to speak to me about your rental property."

"Well, not exactly…"

Mr. Carson gave her a confused look, "But I thought you said…"

"I lied. I want to talk to you about Mrs. Hughes."

"Mrs. Patmore…"

"No, Mr. Carson, what I have to say is important."

Unsure of any other recourse he might have, he simply nodded.

Taking a deep breath, the little cook began, "You are a bull, Mr. Carson, but you have been pent up behind a strong fence- one of your own making, mind you- but a strong fence, and now you have decided to break through that fence and Mrs. Hughes is the heifer the next field over, and while she may not be as young as she once was, she is not without a lovely hide, you must admit. And while you are not the young, virile animal you once were…"

Mr. Carson was more than a little embarrassed and considerably confused by the cook's frankness. "Mrs. Patmore, where on God's green earth are you going with this? I am a bull and Mrs. Hughes is a heifer?"

Mrs. Patmore sighed, "Very well. Forget about all that." She waved her hand in the air as if to erase the comments of the previous moment, deciding instead to take a direct tact. "This afternoon I sat in Mrs. Hughes' bedroom for an hour watching the poor woman weep. She is worried about what you want from her in this marriage."

Blinking repeatedly at the small cook, Mr. Carson's heart began to race as he suddenly understood what she had been on about, a vision of a giant bull rushing towards a small, terrified heifer suddenly playing in his mind. His anxiety over their positions in the house, not to mention their financial situation, his embarrassment over this exchange, as well as the news that the woman he loved deeply didn't return his feelings combined so powerfully that he became overwhelmed with panic. This panic and the surge of adrenaline it provided made it impossible for him to remain seated and desperately feeling the need to escape the small room, Mr. Carson jumped from his chair and threw open the pantry door to find Mrs. Hughes ten feet down the corridor making her way towards the kitchen.

"Perhaps you would like to reconsider this engagement, Mrs. Hughes?" The speed with which the words flew from his mouth shocked even himself, but he found he could not stop. "I thought my intentions were quite clear when I proposed, but if Mrs. Patmore is right, you and I are clearly not of the same mindset. It is not my intention to engage you in a union you would find repulsive!"

Mrs. Patmore rushed out of the pantry, her hand pulling on Mr. Carson's arm in an effort to gain his attention. "Mr. Carson! Wait, that's not…" The cook was stopped short as Mr. Carson turned to her, sharply informing the little woman, "I love her, Mrs. Patmore. I am happy and tickled and bursting with pride that she would agree to be my wife, and I want us to live as closely as two people can, for the time that remains to us on earth…"

Mr. Carson's speech was interrupted by a sudden cry from down the hall, "Wait!"

Mrs. Patmore let go of Mr. Carson's arm as they both turned to see the housekeeper rushing towards them.

"Please..." Mrs. Hughes turned her attention to the cook. "I am certain you have only the best intentions at heart, Mrs. Patmore, but please, for the love of God, don't say anything more."

Mrs. Patmore opened her mouth to speak, but the warning look on her friend's face caused her to quickly shut her mouth and offer only a small nod before stepping around the couple and making her way down the corridor.

The cook out of sight, the couple turned back to look at one another, each suddenly terrified to speak out of fear of what might result. Mrs. Hughes finally broke the tension. "Now that we have probably woken the entire house, perhaps we should step inside, Mr. Carson."

Nodding in agreement, Mr. Carson's shoulders slumped dejectedly as he followed her into the pantry, shutting the door quietly before turning to face what he was sure would be the end of any hope of happiness he had ever entertained.

Mrs. Hughes waited for him to join her near the desk, frowning when he failed to take the few steps that separated them as she gently implored, "Please come here, Mr. Carson."

The large butler suddenly seemed more little boy than man, his bottom lip protruding as he fought tears. "I don't want this to end where it started."

Mrs. Hughes looked around, realizing she was standing in the exact spot she had been in when he had proposed.

"Why would you think this is ending?"

He looked up from the floor. "You don't want me. You don't want the same marriage I do."

Mrs. Hughes let out an exasperated groan before speaking. "What exactly did Mrs. Patmore say to you?"

Mr. Carson took a tentative step towards her, "She said I was a bull and you were a heifer with a lovely hide and I had been pent up too long…"

Mrs. Hughes rolled her eyes, "Oh for the love of...that woman…I swear. First of all, you are not a bull, but a man. Let's be clear about that. In the same turn, I am no heifer, thank you very much. I am a woman and I am a woman who happens to be happy, tickled and bursting with pride that you want her to be your wife."

Pausing to digest her words, Mr. Carson let a small smile break as he followed her lead, repeating the words she had said to him only weeks before, "I'm not convinced I can be hearing this right."

Offering her hand to him, she affected a deep voice, "You are if you think I am asking you to marry me."

"We've done that bit." His smile became genuine as he took her hand, moving so that they stood facing one another as they had that Christmas Eve night.

"Mr. Carson, I do want…"

"Charles."

His interruption caught her off-guard. "What?"

"You are my Elsie and I am your Charles. Perhaps not in front of the servants or the family, but like this, when we are alone. " Leaning his forehead against hers, he whispered "My Elsie."

"My Charles."

This first true moment of intimacy was relished by each as the only sounds that filled the room for the next several moments were their sniffles and the ticking of the nearby clock.

Elsie opened her eyes, tears cascading down her cheeks as she gently leaned back to look at him. "I do want to marry you, Charles. I want a real marriage and I want you."

"All of it?"

"Every single bit of it."

His own tears falling, Charles gently placed his hands on either side of her head before leaning down to give her forehead the sweetest of kisses.


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